An Unexpected and Really Strange Adventure
by literalmind
Summary: A series of drabbles on the premise of the Fellowship getting dumped into the 21st century, rather than the other way around. My aim is to be humorous while keeping the Fellowship as much in character as possible. K for now, but could possibly become T later on. ON HIATUS while I get my mind back in order.
1. Cars and Axes Don't Mix

**These are inspired by WrittenMagic2's fic "It's All My Pug's Fault," which is an excellent example of those all-to-few fics which place the Fellowship in the 21st century, rather than a 21st century person (*cough*girl*cough*) falling into Middle Earth. I love these kinds of stories, but I can't find very many of them, which is really a shame because it's such a huge opportunity for humor. So anyway, I wrote this first one down out of my many ideas, and I plan to write more! There will be a _bit _of actual story out of necessity (I mean, I've gotta give our modern woman a character, and I can't do that without at least some backstory and circumstance explanation), but mostly these are just going to be short, funny drabbles and lots of fluff. (If I'm misusing those terms, please do tell me.) **

**Well, this is only my second title on here, so I hope you like it! Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)**

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"What, in the name of all the Valar," muttered Boromir, "is _that_?"

The Fellowship stood huddled together in the grass at the edge of a wide strip of some kind of beige stone. Behind them and to the right stood a large white house constructed of some strange wood-like material, but that wasn't what the group was staring at in trepidation and horrified curiosity.

In front of them, on the smooth stone that lacked any signs of being laid or cobbled, sat an object which utterly baffled the nine men. The thing was silver, shiny, and quite large. It rested on four round, black objects which resembled wheels, but they were unlike any wheels the Fellowship had ever seen before. Dark gray squares ran lengthwise down the sides of the contraption, hugging the top edge, and large rectangles of the same material were on both the front and back. Out from under the front rectangle there protruded something that strongly resembled a snout, on the sides of which there were white-and-yellow patches that looked like eyes.

"I would say that it seems almost some form of…carriage," murmured Gandalf, "but for that muzzle-like protrusion at the front, and the absence of any place for the driver to sit."

"Maybe he sits on the top. That is probably what those rails are for." Merry gestured to the black bars running along the top of the mysterious object.

"Or sits or stands on the front. Maybe that is why the snout thing is there—it's a platform," added Pippin interestedly. Merry made a noise of disbelief. "I doubt that. He'd likely fall off the moment it started to move; it's all open; there is nothing to secure him. On the _top_, however, he has rails to keep him from falling."

"Those bars don't rise very far off the top," Sam said doubtfully. "Like as not they wouldn't stop no one from fallin' off, even us hobbits."

Frodo, who had thus far hung back behind the others, spoke up. "It is strange and ominous, whatever it is. Those patches on the muzzle look too much like eyes; I feel as though they are staring at me." The Ring-bearer looked pale, and he was clutching his chest, where the Ring hung on its chain under his shirt. Aragorn moved closer to the hobbit and put a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. Frodo gazed up at the Ranger gratefully, but also with the tiniest trace of suspicion and fear. Aragorn caught the nervousness in his expression and moved away again, brow troubled.

Legolas and Gandalf now approached the presumed carriage, the Elf with dagger drawn. Glamdring remained sheathed at the wizard's side, but nonetheless the old man was tensed, ready to draw it at any moment. The two Men weren't far behind; Boromir held his sword at the ready, but Aragorn's empty hands were at his sides.

Legolas hesitantly reached out his free hand and lightly rested his fingertips on the carriage's cool shell. "Whatever it is, it is not a living thing," he said without turning his head. "It is utterly lifeless beneath my hand."

Gandalf, too, was running his hands over the object, frowning. "This is a strange thing indeed… This material is not one that I have ever seen or heard of in all my days. It is some kind of strange metal, neither iron nor silver, nor even mithril. Legolas?"

"Nay," the Elf replied. "It is of no substance that I know of."

Boromir now stepped close to the thing, peering at his reflection in the dark gray panels. Suddenly, something caught his eye, and he refocused his gaze to look _past _his reflection. "It is indeed a carriage!" he gasped. "See, these panels are windows, and there are seats inside!" The three others examining it also peered into the panels, shading their eyes against the glare, and they too saw the seats: in the back, a soft-looking gray bench, with three blocks of the same material placed evenly along the top. In the front were two seats that looked more like strange chairs, also with the soft blocks on the top.

"What is that, do you think?" Aragorn asked Gandalf, indicating the round wheel-like thing that was mounted in front of the far front seat. The wizard only shook his head in bafflement.

"Well, let us open it, and we shall see," said Boromir, grasping one of the short streamlined bars on the side. It was attached at both ends, so it wouldn't turn, and so Boromir tried pulling. The bar moved outward some, but no door opened. He tugged again, harder, but still with no result.

Gimli, who had approached the carriage when it became clear it wasn't going to attack, hefted his axe. "I'll open it for ye," he roared, and swung the axe down on one of the windows. The four men leapt away just in time, and the hobbits, who had begun to edge forward, stumbled back again.

The moment the window shattered, a deafening blast like that of a horn sounded from the carriage. The eye-like patches suddenly blazed to life, flashing, their light rivaling only Gandalf's staff in brightness.

Mayhem broke out among the Fellowship. The hobbits, trying to run, stumbled and lay where they fell, hands over their ears. Legolas almost dropped his dagger as his hands instinctively rushed up to cover his ears, but he fought against the impulse and leapt backward, battle ready, eyes watering at the pain of the noise. Aragorn and Gandalf drew their swords, but stood unsure of what to do, for there was nothing to attack. Boromir, wincing, stood over the hobbits with sword raised, ready to defend. Frodo lost his inner struggle and grabbed at the Ring, jamming it on his finger—but nothing happened; he didn't disappear. None of the others noticed except for Sam.

"Gandalf, what are we to do?" shouted Aragorn over the din. Before the wizard could reply, Gimli gave his own answer in the form of a violent attack on the vehicle. This, however, had no effect in stopping the blasts and the flashing lights, but only added loud thunks and crunches to the noise, coupled with the Dwarf's bellowed battle cries.

"AAAAGGHHH! WHAT THE HECK?! _WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CAR?!_" A horrified screech rent the air, and everyone's head whipped around to look at the house. At the door stood a young woman with a completely overwhelmed expression on her face and a tiny black object in her hand. She rushed over to the honking vehicle and ran around to the far front side, the side that had the wheel in front of the seat. The Fellowship didn't see what she did, but the deafening noise and the flashing lights ceased. The woman reappeared around the back of the damaged carriage and crossed her arms, expression thunderous.

"Uh-oh," muttered Sam. "Now we're in for it."

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**NB: The car is a generic silver SUV; just telling you for visualization purposes. I probably didn't make that very clear in my description. :/**


	2. No, Legolas, Movie is Not a Loan Word

**OK guys, sorry this chapter isn't as funny. I know right now it's not really drabbles. But I am terribly OCD about my writing, and I've absolutely got to establish at least some backstory/explanation first. 'Cause they've got to meet properly, right? She's got to figure out they're real. And the Fellowship can't just be staying at some random girl's house without a reason being given. So, this chapter and the next one or two will be establishing the situation, and then from there it should just be funny drabbles. Should be. But the muse can't always be controlled-after all, he's not a TAME Lion. ;D**

**And yes, I am from the South, and since I find it so much easier to write humor in my natural way (as well as to highlight the difference between OFC and the Fellowship), our *ahem* "heroine" will be speaking with a Southern dialect. Prepare for lots of "y'all"s and "dad gummit"s.**

**Oh, and yes, I know Westron is not English. For the purposes of this story, though, it is, or else it's being magically translated. Because while it might be interesting to write and read about one of us struggling to learn the language in Middle Earth, it would be no fun at all for the Fellowship to land here and not be able to understand a word. :)**

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"So let me get this straight," said the woman. She had grudgingly given her name—Sarah—when the Fellowship had given theirs (except Gimli, who had refused to give his name and had to be introduced by Pippin). "You're claiming to be the Fellowship of the Ring. In my front yard, in the United States of America, in 2015. And you attacked my car…why, exactly?"

Gimli, who was still eyeing Sarah suspiciously, leaned over to Gandalf. "We said nothing of being a Fellowship," he growled. "And certainly nothing of the Ring. She is clearly a spy of the Enemy, and her evil carriage, a device of Saruman!" Though his voice was relatively low, he had to speak loudly enough for Gandalf to hear, and he made no effort to hide his last sentence. He gripped the haft of his axe and scowled pointedly at the girl.

Gandalf frowned at the Dwarf's mention of the Ring, but he shared Gimli's suspicions. "Madam, we apologize for the damage to your carriage. But you must understand our hesitation. How is it that you know of our company, yet this land is foreign to us?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Frodo, Legolas, Gandalf? And the way you look—even your heights? Only an idiot wouldn't recognize you. So what'd y'all do, break out of the loony bin, kidnap four kids, dress them up like hobbits, and convince them somehow to go along with this thing?"

The Fellowship stared at one another in confusion. "Loony bin?" whispered Pippin, while Sam squinted at Sarah and muttered, "Did she just call us goats?"

"I must say, though, you seem to be pretty literary for nutcases. You don't seem to be trying to follow the movies too much. You've got Boromir's dark hair and Frodo's light hair, I'll give you that." Sarah appeared to be rather pleased at this, but the Fellowship looked utterly bemused, and the two men named shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Milady, what is a…mouvies?" inquired Legolas.

"And what bearing do they have on my hair color?" added Boromir.

The girl snorted. "Seriously. '_A movies_'…really? It's one movie, two movies. You know, moving picture? Film? Theater? Cinema? No?" She received blank stares from the entire company. "OK then… Is English not your first language?" she asked, on a sudden inspiration. The so-called "Elf" did have a bit of an accent, after all; a kind of lilting quality in the way he formed his words that Sarah couldn't pin down to any particular country. Wales, perhaps, or maybe Ireland.

"Een-glish, milady?" asked Legolas, brow furrowed, the word strange on his tongue. "Nay, I do not speak this language. Indeed I am unfamiliar with even the name. Is 'mouvie' borrowed from this Een-glish?"

Sarah just stared at him. She put her face in her hand. "You're kidding, right?" she said hoarsely.

"I fear not, madam," said Gandalf. "I believe I am correct in saying that none of us have ever heard of this language." He had seen the look on Sarah's face when Legolas (frankly) butchered the pronunciation of her words, and skillfully avoided making the same mistake for now.

The stare was now turned on the wizard, and then to the rest of the Nine as they emphatically nodded their heads in agreement. The girl's mouth was slightly open. Her expression was clearly one of total, appalled disbelief. Finally, she seemed to regain her voice. "But—but…but you're _speaking_ it!" She ignored the looks of shock and confusion as she thundered on, quickly becoming angry. "Y'all think you can pull one over on me like that?! Trying to make me think you've never heard of _English_? Asking _in English _if 'movie' was a loan word _from _English?! COME ON, what do I look like, a DOLT?! I'm going inside, and I'm calling the police. They can take you back to the nuthouse you _clearly _escaped from!" Sarah turned and stepped up onto the porch, reaching for the door.

Aragorn and Gandalf shared a swift look, silently agreeing. These "police" sounded like some kind of local authority, and being dragged off and imprisoned by armed officials was the last thing they needed right now. With a single stride, Aragorn moved forward and caught the woman's arm before she could open the door, pulling her back. "HEY!" she shouted, and tried to jerk her arm out of his grip, but his hand was like a steel trap.

"Legolas," Aragorn said sharply, and the Elf quickly stepped over to them. Aragorn thrust the struggling girl, who now looked like she was gathering breath for a scream, into Legolas's arms. "Keep her quiet while I consult with Gandalf," the Man ordered, and strode back down the porch steps to rejoin the group.


	3. (Real) Pointy Ears and (Real) Hairy Feet

Sarah, lungs full, opened her mouth to let out a bloodcurdling scream—but the sound was more like "EEEAAGGghh-mpff!" because Legolas, fully aware of what she intended, had swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth. She let out a (muffled) vicious growl and tried to bite his hand, but only succeeded in chomping on her lower lip. Eyes watering now, she still continued to struggle wildly against the Elf's hold. This only made him redouble his grip, however, and he pinioned her to his side. "Pray cease your struggling, milady," he said softly, "or I will be forced to bind you."

She glared up at him with her best death-stare. Then she noticed his ears. They were pointed, of course, but they sure looked awfully realistic for some crazy cosplayer who just broke out of the asylum. They were seamless and perfectly colored, as if they had come fresh from WETA's makeup trailer applied by master costume artists, rather than from a dollar costume store and jammed on some nut's ear, as they surely were. Surely. Unless these were filthy-rich nuts who had enough money to order custom costumes and makeup accessories.

Come to think of it, they _all _looked weirdly authentic. Their clothes looked heavy, homemade, and suitably travel-worn, and their hair was…well, it was so dirty and unkempt that it could have been wigs, could have been real—really no telling without inspecting it up close. _Hmm..._

"Legolas's" hair was right in Sarah's face. She squinted at it with one eye, then the other, having trouble focusing on it because it was so close to her eyes. _Looks real enough, from what I can tell_, she thought. She sniffed the hair and made a face. It certainly _smelled _like real, unwashed hair. _Though it's probably not as bad as the others', going by visual comparison._ OK, so the guy pretending to be an Elf had his own long blond hair. So what? Maybe his ears were naturally pointed too. There were people with kind of pointy ears… _OK, no. That one's probably not natural._

Sarah strained her ears, but she couldn't hear the others' muttered conversation, so she turned her attention back to "Legolas". And dang, was he fine-looking. Orlando Bloom had nothing on this guy. He looked more like Benedict Cumberbatch—but way better. _Blasphemy! _cried her inner Cumberbabe, but it was the truth. This guy had certainly picked the right character to cosplay. He really did look like an Elf. Sarah almost didn't mind being pinioned up against him. Almost.

Legolas felt the girl stop fighting and slowly uncoil, and he relaxed his grip a bit but didn't release her or her mouth. His keen ears had no trouble picking up his companions' low voices, and he remained alert to their words. He noticed the Glare of Doom and was mildly impressed—he had never seen such an expression on a woman before—but ignored it. Then Legolas felt the glare fade but her gaze remain, and he knew she was studying him.

He heard Sarah sniff at his hair and felt her face draw up under his hand. The tiniest trace of a frown creased his forehead. What did the woman expect? Not even Elves could remain fresh-smelling when they had been in the Wild for nigh a month with no chance for a bath. Legolas let out a tiny puff of breath through his nose and turned his whole attention on Aragorn and Gandalf. Their conversation really shouldn't be taking so long, but the others (namely Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin) had obviously insisted on joining in, and the consultation had quickly become a debate.

After another five minutes, the argument didn't show any signs of resolving itself any time in the next few minutes, and Legolas could _still _feel the girl staring at him. He was becoming somewhat discomfited. She was now wearing the same dreamy look that appeared on the face of most mortal women when they saw him, or any _ellon _for that matter. The Elf risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw her pupils were slightly dilated. He groaned inwardly.

Nonchalantly, Legolas shifted his grip around so that Sarah was no longer pressed up against his body. There was no need anymore; she had stopped struggling. In fact there was probably no need to even keep holding her at all. He seriously considered just pushing her away and making her sit on the porch where he could just keep an eye on her. Luckily, though, at that moment a decision was finally (mainly) agreed upon. The Dwarf was, predictably, grumbling. So were four hobbit stomachs.

The entire group approached the porch steps. Gandalf was wearing an agreeable expression that was only half forced. "You can release Miss Sarah now, Legolas," the wizard said affably, waving the Elf away. He then turned his gaze on the woman, somehow managing to look both grandfatherly and imploring, with a little exhaustion—which wasn't hard to contrive—thrown in for good measure. "Now, madam," said Gandalf kindly, "I am afraid that we must intrude upon your hospitality for a little longer. I assure you, madam, that we are not insane nor are we 'pretending' to be the Fellowship. Might you, perhaps, invite us inside, so that we all may talk privately, and be in a more comfortable setting?"

Sarah really didn't want to invite these nine guys inside her house, and she didn't believe they were sane. No sane person walks around in dirty medieval dress with grungy hair and a sword! But the old man was so persuasive. He really did seem quite kind, even if he was off his rocker. And he looked so tired…in fact, they all did…

Her eyes fell on one of the hobbits' feet. Sarah nearly choked on her own spit. There was no _way_ that thing could be prosthetic. No stinking way! She could see the bones, the muscles, the freaking _veins_. Makeup artists were good, but surely not that good…!

Startling everyone, Sarah rushed down the steps and over to Merry, who cried out in astonishment and fear. She threw herself down in front of him and grabbed for his foot, which made Merry try to stumble away. "Oh, quit it, I'm not gonna hurt you! Just let me look at your foot—I need to look at your foot! Sam! I mean Merry! I think!" Merry nervously stepped forward again and held out his foot, which the woman grabbed. She examined it closely, her nose practically touching it (_ugh, oh man, this stinks_), even poking and pinching the foot and pulling at its hair.

"Hey!" yelped Merry, hopping backwards on his other foot. "Now that's enough!" But Sarah had found what she was looking for—or rather, _not _found it. There was no scrap of latex, makeup, rubber, or spirit gum anywhere below the knee on that guy.

The woman got up from the ground and shuffled onto the porch, opening the door. The Fellowship noted her demeanor had changed drastically, and she had the strangest look on her face: a kind of blank look, like she knew something was true but was having a hard time accepting it. Silently, she gestured for the Nine to enter the house. The girl led the way, and the others filed in after her, all but Gandalf nervous. Aragorn brought up the rear. When he crossed the threshold he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder; he was loath to close the door and thus shut them in, potentially trapping them, but he knew an open front door would look suspicious if anyone happened by. He shut the door with a grim expression.


	4. A One-Course Meal With Lots of Courses

**Well, this chapter ended up being longer than I expected, but I didn't want to split it up into two chapters. Besides, it's actually not very long at all. :B**

**I also want to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. I wasn't expecting people to like this as much as they have! Remember, reviews and con crit is always greatly, greatly appreciated! :D**

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Having finally, for the most part, accepted that this was indeed the real Fellowship of the Ring, Sarah was now faced with the problem of feeding, washing and rooming nine very hungry, dirty, tired men. Supper tonight could be taken care of easily enough—thank the Lord for pizza delivery service—but what about breakfast? Sarah had no doubt that leftover pizza would not be making tomorrow's morning meal, if there even _was _any left over. Come to think of it, the hobbits would probably even want something a few hours after supper, even if they stuffed themselves silly on pizza. _There goes my entire stash of ice cream and Chips Ahoy, I guess,_ she thought ruefully.

Sarah pushed the thought of breakfast out of her mind for the moment and focused on getting these guys fed right now. Pippin was complaining of being hungry, and the others, not just the hobbits, were silently agreeing. She knew Pippin wasn't exaggerating, at least, because she could hear his stomach growling from across the room.

"Oh, good! What are we having?" was the youngest hobbit's immediate and enthusiastic response to Sarah's announcement that supper would be in about twenty minutes or so. "Pizza," she replied, trying to explain before Pippin could even ask. "It's a big, round, flat piece of bread with tomato sauce, cheese, seasonings, and various other toppings on top of it. It's cut into triangular slices to eat."

"That doesn't sound bad, not at all," said Sam interestedly. "What are the other courses?"

Sarah stared at him openmouthed. "Courses? Uh…" She looked around the living room at the rest of the Fellowship, who were also clearly expecting a meal that consisted of more than one item. "Um, well, the pizza is kind of…a bunch of courses in itself. Because it's got all kinds of things on top of it. …Uh, I guess I could order some breadsticks too," she added when the men didn't seem to be convinced. In fact Sarah could see they still weren't convinced (really, she didn't blame them; sticks of bread were hardly a course in themselves), but she was sure their minds would change once they actually saw the pizza. And, of course, ate it.

Sarah briefly considered asking them what sort of toppings they would like, but quickly scrapped that idea. They wouldn't know the kinds of things available, and would probably not even know what some of them were if she told them. "OK, let's see…I think a large has twelve slices in it, and the hobbits will probably eat at least five each…" She muttered to herself, doing rough calculations. "So that would be twenty slices…let's just up it to six each, I'm sure they'll have no problem with that…so that's two pizzas right there just for the hobbits. And then Gimli is probably almost as bad, I'll say five for him…Aragorn and Boromir are big guys—really fit, I bet they're used to scarfing a lot of food, maybe four or five for them. Legolas will probably eat like a normal person. Hopefully. Three for the Elf, then…"

She snorted at that. _Three slices for the Elven-prince under the ceiling fan… _"And Gandalf…well, I'll just assume Gandalf will eat like a normal person too. So let's see, that's…almost four pizzas, a couple slices for wiggle room. I'll get an extra one for me and anyone else who's still hungry."

Sam and Merry watched the woman with some interest as she ambled around what they assumed was the kitchen, mumbling to herself and counting on her fingers. "I wonder if Big Folk talk to themselves like that often," whispered Merry. "If they do, it is no wonder we consider them mad." Sam _hmmph_ed in agreement, while fondly remembering his old Gaffer doing the same thing in the garden. "Bilbo talked out loud to himself a bit, though," he pointed out. Merry grinned. "Yes, but he _was _just a bit cracked. Not as mad as the rest of the Shire thought, but still, a bit cracked nonetheless." Sam scowled at such things being said about dear old Bilbo, but Frodo and Pippin, who had overheard, laughed and agreed with Merry.

Sarah had just decided to go with a little of everything, so if someone didn't like one pizza they could eat another. She grabbed the phone and dialed up the local pizza place, a number she had, sadly, memorized from constant repetition. "Hello, yes, I'd like to order five large pizzas. One supreme, one meat lovers', one vegetable lovers', one pepperoni and bacon, and one with chicken, peppers and onions. That's one-oh-one Windmill Lane. ..Yes. Oh! And also…how many breadsticks come in an order? …Six? Then I'd also like…um, three of those, please. ….A party, yeah, kind of. …OK. OK, thanks! Bye."

The Fellowship listened in bafflement to the girl's sudden, one-sided conversation with thin air. "Has the woman gone mad?" muttered Boromir to Gandalf. "Perhaps she was talking to a servant in another room," suggested Pippin. Frodo shook his head. "But it seemed we heard one side of a conversation, rather than just her giving orders. And surely we would have heard any responses to her questions. Legolas, was there any answer that we perhaps missed?" He turned to the Elf, who shook his head. "And why would she have said a farewell if speaking to a servant?"

They fell silent as Sarah reentered the room, a small colorful object in hand. It looked rather like a very thin brick. She stopped short when she noticed the nine pairs of eyes staring at her. "What?" she demanded. "Is there something on my face?" Then Sarah realized what her phone conversation must have sounded like to these men who had never even imagined the concept of a telephone.

"I was calling in our supper," she said. This was going to be very hard to explain. "On the phone. It…it allows people to talk to each other over great distances. I'm not really sure how," she added when Gandalf looked highly interested, "so I'm not even gonna try to explain. Just suffice it to say that I told someone what kinds of pizza to make, and they'll be delivering it in about twenty minutes. Might be a little longer because I ordered so many." The Fellowship still looked very confused, but nodded. They were going to have food in a half-hour or less. That much they could understand.

Sarah waved her hand at the couch, loveseat and armchair. "Sit down, make yourselves at home," she said, trying not to let it sound like a command. Them all just standing there was making her nervous. But only Gandalf and Pippin felt at all comfortable enough to sit; the others remained standing tensely. They knew, of course, that if Gandalf was relaxing in the armchair there must be only negligible traces of danger at the moment, if any, but they were still on edge.

The next twenty-five minutes were quite possibly the most awkward of Sarah's life thus far. She couldn't bring herself to sit down with most of the Fellowship standing and ready to leap into action at the smallest sign of trouble. And Gandalf had taken the La-Z-Boy, which meant that in order to sit down Sarah would have to either sit next to Pippin on the loveseat (awkward) or sit on the couch and risk one of the others, namely the ones that weren't hobbits, sitting next to her (even more awkward). She finally perched nervously on the arm of the couch, her back probably straighter than she had held it in years.

And then Pippin, casual and nonchalant as a cat, produced a pipe from who-knows-where and a bag of tobacco, and proceeded to fill the bowl. Sarah was intrigued to see how he would light it, but decided to stop it before it went that far. "Um," she said, voice not making it above a whisper. She tried again. "Uh, sorry, but could you maybe please not smoke? I've heard that pipe smoke actually smells pretty good, but let's maybe just save that for outside. Don't want my furniture to smell like smoke." Pippin froze with the stem halfway to his mouth. "Oh! Er…of course, madam. That was rude of me. I beg your pardon." And he hastily dumped the contents of the bowl back into the little leather pouch. Gimli, who had also produced a pipe when he saw what Pippin was doing, sighed and put it away again.

Aragorn's polite, if forced, attempt at small talk ("Do not you have a beau, Miss Sarah? Surely a woman of your age and beauty must be betrothed?") floated about as well as a stone. Frodo wandered over to the small bookshelf in the corner and browsed. Boromir and Gimli were muttering to each other. Sarah was regretting her decision to take these guys in.

At last, the doorbell rang, making the Fellowship jump, and Sarah leapt from her seat and all but flew to foyer. Her relief was evident and was shared by all.

A few minutes later, after the handing over of a considerable about of money, five pizza boxes were open on various kitchen surfaces and dinner was officially served. The beverage was ice water; there was not enough soda or sweet tea in the house to serve ten people. The Fellowship had the honor of sitting at the large dining-room table, if only because there was not enough seating in the kitchen.

They had, at first, been very skeptical of the pizza. Admittedly it wasn't the prettiest in presentation—it was delivery, after all, not pictures for a menu—but the heavenly smell wafting from the boxes was more than enough to make up for the appearance. The hobbits, who were a little too short to see into the boxes, were driven to distraction by the aroma as they waited for their plates to be filled. When asked which kind he would like, Sam replied, "One of each, please, Miss, and then one more," to which the other hobbits nodded vigorously. Sarah made the extra piece for all four of them either supreme or vegetable lovers', remembering hobbits' obsession with mushrooms.

The Fellowship all ate pretty much the same amount that Sarah had thought they would, Gimli and the two Men eating a slice more each. As she had predicted, the hobbits were delighted with the mushrooms and even picked some of them off to eat by themselves. Gimli, predictably, favored the meat lovers', as did Boromir. Aragorn and Gandalf seemed to find the supreme the best, while Legolas, surprisingly, did not favor the vegetable lovers' as much as the chicken, pepper and onion. It was just as well, because the hobbits all went back for seconds, and so the supreme and vegetable lovers' were polished off.

In the end, the entire Fellowship agreed that it was, after all, not a bad meal. The breadsticks were a bigger hit than Sarah was expecting; she was going to go without, since there were only enough for two each in the Fellowship, but Gandalf kindly gave her one of his. There were few leftovers—one slice of meat lovers', one slice of chicken, pepper and onion, and four of the pepperoni and bacon. No one seemed to like that one all that much, for which Sarah was glad. She'd ordered it for herself anyway.


	5. Worst Day of the Year

**I continue to be surprised and flattered at the positive reviews I'm receiving. I'm so glad you like it and find it funny! Thank you all so much, and I hope I continue to deliver. I apologize for the lack of Fellowship dialogue this chapter, but honestly I don't think they would have all that much to say. At least not in front of their host. For the "feminine hygiene products," I couldn't decide which kind would be more embarrassing. I leave you to decide for yourself.**

**Title is taken from The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe movie. It's Mr. Beaver's comment concerning Bath Day, and I suspect that some of the Fellowship, particularly Gimli, would heartily concur.**

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Explaining the bathroom was an experience Sarah did not care to have to repeat. Ever. It was a nightmare made infinitely worse by the fact that she chose to use the master bathroom since it had a garden tub as well as a shower. No problem with that, except it was the one she normally used. And she had neglected to put away her "feminine hygiene products" after her last period.

Seeing the look on her face as she snatched up the packets and things and more or less threw them in the closet, closing the door harder than was strictly necessary, the Fellowship knew better than to ask. A few of them, putting two and two together once the toilet was properly explained, could venture a guess and were nearly as embarrassed as the woman herself.

She covered the basic rules—don't use a ridiculous amount of toilet paper, wash your hands with soap every time, etc., etc. She also showed, at Gandalf's request, what constituted a "ridiculous amount." Then she explained about the flushing.

"So, um, yeah, just please make sure you turn that handle once you're done. Oh, and I almost forgot—when you've…" Sarah's face grew a bit red. "When you've just got to, um, pee—_please _remember to lift up the seat as well as the lid. Because I'm not dealing with _splashes _on the seat of my toilet. For that matter, if there's any mess, you'll be the ones cleaning it up." Sarah was rather embarrassed, yes, having grown up with no men in the house besides her father, but her embarrassment was absolutely nothing compared to the men's. Every face in the crowded room had some degree of red on it, even Legolas's.

And if they had thought that was bad, next came the shower. Sarah was slightly more at ease with this, given that it did not directly concern the manner in which men relieved themselves; but if everyone else's faces had been red before, they were positively flaming now. The only possible exceptions were Gandalf and Legolas, who shared Sarah's reason, but they were still uncomfortable.

"There's the hot and cold knobs, just like at the sink," the girl explained, "and then this knob—oh yeah, that's the other one. One of the other bathrooms has a shower and tub combined," she elaborated, on seeing their confused and questioning looks. "I'll show y'all that one just to make sure you get how it works. Anyway…you just turn the knobs to adjust how much hot and cold you've got coming out, and when you're happy with the temperature just step in. Um, without your clothes, obviously." Against her will, her gaze flicked over to Legolas, Aragorn and Boromir. _No. No, Sarah, you are NOT thinking about any of those three naked in a steaming shower. Nope. Get a grip, lady. _Forcing those images to the back of her mind to join those of various Fellowship members seated on the toilet with a magazine, Sarah cleared her throat and rather hurriedly moved on to the subject of shampoo.

"So you just open the cap—um, like this," she demonstrated just in case, "and squeeze a little into your hand. Not much, about the size of a quarter…" She also indicated how big that was with her finger and thumb, before trailing off, looking at Legolas's near-waist-length hair. "Well…some of you might need to use a little more. Or _considerably_ more," she added, eyeing Gandalf and Gimli. "Just try not to use _too _much. Use just a little at a time, and if it's not enough, use a little more."

Sarah explained about the lathering and washing out, which the Fellowship had grasped well enough on their own, and then moved on to the soap. "I don't think I need to say much about this," she said, holding up the bar, and everyone shook their heads. It was different in appearance from the soap they were used to, but its shape and placement made it obvious. "I will ask you, though, to please use a washcloth instead of the bar itself. Not only do I _not _want to be touching a bar that's been who-knows-where—" the Fellowship winced as one, "—but I also don't want my showers spent trying to pick, wash, or otherwise remove hair from my soap." Sarah smiled at the amused glances shared between the men, but nonetheless said, "I'm serious, guys. You ever tried to get hair off a wet bar of soap? It's practically impossible. And given the amount of hair in this group…" She shook her head. "Just use a washcloth."

The tub, thankfully, didn't need much explaining. Sarah just demonstrated the little switch that opened and closed the drain, and indicated how to turn on the miniature handheld showerhead. "I think it might be easier for you hobbits to just stick to the tub, if you want," she suggested. "The knobs in this shower, at least, are kind of high up. The other two aren't though, so you can just use those too." The hobbits said that they might use the showers for the sake of time, but that they would most likely end up using the bathtub. "Such a lovely tub," sighed Pippin, gazing fondly at it. "And instant hot water you don't have to fetch to fill it!" Sarah suddenly remembered with horror that he had covered the floor of Frodo's bathroom in an inch of water the one time he had bathed there. On second thought, maybe Pippin ought to use the shower.

After pointing out the linen closet and making sure she even _had _ten towels, Sarah said that the other two bathrooms were pretty much the same except for the tub/shower combination, and briefly explained about the plumbing all being connected and not to flush toilets while someone was showering or have more than two showers going at the same time. She also advised them to wait a few minutes between every few turns, just so the hot water wouldn't suddenly run out on an unsuspecting person.

Sarah considered mentioning shaving, but decided not to. Not only had the men most likely never used a safety razor before, she didn't have any shaving cream that didn't smell womanly, since her dad used an electric razor, and doggoned if she was going to give them _that_. Sarah decided to hold off on the deodorant too (at least she did have men's deodorant in the house); they were, after all only going to be staying a day or so, and she wouldn't have to deal with armpit smell for long. At least that was what she hoped. She also didn't feel the Fellowship would take well to the hair dryer, so she skipped that too, and just quickly showed them how to work the combination shower.

They all certainly needed a bath. Not only were they sweaty and travel-stained, they were also pizza-stained—who knew that the right way to hold and eat pizza was learned and not instinctive? Gandalf had an olive or two in the depths of his beard, and the Men had pizza sauce that had escaped the napkin here and there. But Gimli was the worst. Sarah had been horrified to learn that the movies had not overly exaggerated Dwarves' table manners. The hair around his mouth was stained with sauce, the color of which progressed in a messy gradient halfway down his beard. And said beard was chock-full of bits of meat, cheese, and vegetable. If every meal was like this for him, Sarah was positive that hair was not the only thing in that beard that was growing. Legolas, though, of course, was spotless.

Once Sarah was sure they all understood and could locate everything they needed, she left them to work out logistics and went to collapse on the couch, fervently thanking God that she didn't have a bidet.


	6. Sleeping Arrangements

**I apologize that it's been close to a week since I last updated. This chapter was hard for me to write, for some reason; I had to start over twice, and I'm still not completely happy with it. It's really short but I've already started on the next one, so fear not! You'll have another, hopefully better, update very soon!**

**As always, thank you all so much for your lovely reviews and for even reading my ramblings in the first place! If you've got something you want to see happen, any particular situation or event, feel free to let me know in a review or a PM. I'm always on the lookout for new ideas! :)**

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At last, after much cajoling, persuading and threatening, Sarah convinced the Fellowship to change out of their dirty traveling outfits and into clean clothes pillaged from her and her parents' bedrooms. None fit perfectly—the hobbits looked like little boys in an older sister's hand-me-downs, and Legolas had to wear a nightgown for a top because every shirt Sarah found was too short—but Sarah was adamant that only clean clothes touch her sheets. This change of clothes did, however, serve to make the Fellowship look both more ludicrous and more normal at the same time. Seeing Gimli in a pair of stretchy capris and Legolas with a little satin bow on his collar was strangely gratifying. And Gandalf now looked like your average redneck grandpa in her dad's old undershirt and lounge pants; all he needed was a beer belly and a bottle of the stuff in his hand.

"All right," said Sarah wearily. "Now we've gotta work out where everyone's going to sleep." At least she knew where the four hobbits were going: her parents' queen-size bed could be raised and lowered at both the head and foot, and two hobbits would fit nicely at each end. This was unanimously agreed to once explained, though the hobbits—Sam especially—were a bit leery of a bed that could move up and down.

Now Sarah was at something of a loss. The spare bedroom had only a twin bed, and while her own was a double, she did not feel at all comfortable with giving it up to two strange men. Besides, it was her room, and she was too tired to put away the various bras and clothing items strewn around it. Then she remembered that most wonderful invention: the air mattress. She retrieved the box from its dusty tomb under the bed and laid out the mattress and motor. The Fellowship watched with keen interest as she hooked everything up, and then with amazement as the mattress ballooned into life. Once the Men had made sure of its safety (after all, such magic is not to be immediately trusted), it was decided that Boromir would take the air mattress on the spare bedroom floor, while Aragorn took the remaining bed. Sarah watched the two Men's exchange with some interest. Boromir insisted that Aragorn have the actual bed; it seemed that, as much as he loathed the idea of the Ranger claiming the kingship, Boromir acknowledged Aragorn's standing as future royalty.

Gimli was delegated to the loveseat, being short enough to lie down on it. Gandalf, it seemed, had fallen in love with the La-Z-Boy: he refused the offer of a bed and declared he would be very comfortable in the oversized chair, and requested only a stool to prop his feet on. "You don't need a stool," Sarah said, and showed him how the chair reclined. The old wizard was delighted and said he would have to mention such a wonderful chair to various carpenters of his acquaintance.

Finally Sarah turned to Legolas. "I guess you'll be taking the couch."

"Aye, milady. Though I may not sleep long or deeply; Elves have little need of rest such as that which mortals must take."

_Oh, that doesn't sound smug at all, _thought Sarah, but she contented herself with just raising an eyebrow at him and saying, "Yeah, I know."

She bid everyone goodnight, receiving polite _good night_s and _thank you_s in return, and retired to her room. She lay awake for quite a while, too wired to sleep, and listened to Gimli's snores proceeding from the living room. It was only as she was finally on the verge of sleep that Sarah remembered she had shut the cat away in her parents' bedroom.


	7. What Is Coffee?

**Wow, OK. This turned out longer than I thought it would. But it should be a nice compensation for the shortness of last chapter. Hope you enjoy! :D**

**As always, thank you all very much for the reviews, and I'm so glad you like it! I love it when I get reviews, because it helps me really feel that people are actually reading my stuff. And again, if you've got a particular drabble in mind that you want to see, give me a prompt in a PM or review!**

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"Should we wake her?"

"I'm hungry."

"The sun is well up. We have let the woman sleep as long as is decent. It is high time she rose."

"I'm _very _hungry. Please let's just wake her!"

The entire Fellowship was gathered once again in the living room, conversing in murmurs. The clock on the wall indicated it was past eight o'clock, and Sarah was still asleep. Needless to say, the hobbits were beginning to voice their concern about breakfast.

It had not been a particularly restful night for the four hobbits. Sarah had helped them fix up the bed and had given them a hand up, and they had settled in for the night. It really was quite comfortable, and soon all but Frodo had nodded off. The Ringbearer, however, couldn't sleep. Despite everyone else, Gandalf especially, seeming to be relatively at ease in this house, Frodo was worried. As much as the woman Sarah seemed harmless, even helpful, he couldn't bring himself to trust her entirely. After all, they had found themselves on _her_ lawn when they appeared in this odd world. Who was to say that Sarah herself hadn't brought them there by some strange magic? And what about the Ring—why had nothing happened when Frodo slipped it on his finger? There was something very, very strange afoot here.

Amidst these worries and thoughts that grew progressively grimmer, Frodo had turned over on his side, expecting to see Sam's head. Instead he had found himself inches away from a pair of eerily glowing eyes. His low cry of alarm roused the other hobbits and brought Legolas to the room. "Frodo? What is the matter?" asked the Elf softly, coming to the bedside; but Frodo waved him away. After that first fright, he had realized he was nose-to-nose with nothing more than a cat. Legolas surveyed the bed with the cat and the other hobbits peering around sleepily in alarm. "I can remove the animal, if it is keeping you from sleep," he offered, but Frodo declined.

He soon wished he hadn't. The cat was a nuisance. At first it was pleasant to have a warm, purring ball of fur snuggled in the bed; that is, until anyone tried to move. Then the animal would pounce on whatever was moving under the sheets, be it foot, hand or leg, and sink its claws and teeth into the offending member. Trying to pull away just made it worse, so the hobbits quickly learned to just relax and lie perfectly still. This course of action seemed to satisfy the cat, who would curl back up, purring once more, in the middle of the bed.

The result was that the poor hobbits spent a very tense, uneasy first night in the twenty-first century. They dozed only fitfully, never able to fall into a deeper sleep for fear of any involuntary movement awakening the cat's wrath. Frodo came blearily awake at dawn to a furry weight on his chest and a pair of disconcerting yellow eyes boring into his face.

So the hobbits were, understandably, not in the best mood that morning.

Neither was Sarah. She awoke suddenly, with that unnerving feeling that someone is watching you. Her eyes flew open and were greeted by the sight of a ridiculously handsome Elf in a pink silk-trimmed nightgown, staring at her calmly.

"_AAAGGHHH! _HOW _DARE _YOU COME INTO MY ROOM AND _STARE _AT ME WHEN I'M _SLEEPING_!"

Gandalf smiled at the rest, who were sniggering. "I believe Miss Sarah is now awake."

Elf prince or not, Legolas was ushered out of the room by a veritable storm of pillows, stuffed animals, books, and anything else within the reach of Sarah's arm. He hustled out the door, closing it behind him with a smirk, and left the furious girl sitting upright on her bed with the sheets gathered up to her shoulders.

Sarah threw her clothes on, fuming. Who did they think they were?! She glanced at the clock and let out an infuriated growl. It was only _8:15_, for Pete's sake! Didn't these people sleep to a reasonable time, or at least have the decency to let _her _sleep to a reasonable time?! Sarah flung open her door and stomped into the living room to meet the Fellowship. At her arrival, they all began terrible coughing fits that sounded suspiciously like smothered laughter.

She was indeed a sight to behold, and despite her obvious ill humor, even the sleep-deprived hobbits were amused at her appearance. Shirt on backwards, pants inside-out, hair that resembled a wild hedge, and pillow marks on her face, Sarah was the picture of someone who had just gotten up and was not happy about it. She guessed at what they were laughing at and made a face. "Y'all don't exactly look like magazine models either," she growled. "Now I guess you're hungry. I gotta see what I've got for breakfast."

Sarah rummaged through all her cabinets, but only came up with half a bag of corn flakes and an almost-full box of Pop-Tarts. She sniffed the milk and grimaced; not even Legolas the Creepy Peeping Tom deserved that stuff. And she definitely wasn't in the mood, or awake enough, to cook a hot breakfast for all of them. _Guess I'll have to get something out…again. _For a brief moment—a very brief moment—Sarah considered packing them all into her axe-dented car and taking them to Hardee's or something. An image of Thor shoveling eggs into his mouth and demanding more coffee while breaking the mug flashed through her head, and she scrapped that idea immediately. If one Norse god caused that much disruption, nine hungry men from Middle-Earth would worsen the situation exponentially. Though she did consider, only half in jest, dumping the Fellowship at the McDonald's where her archenemy worked mornings, and sitting back to watch the chaos that ensued.

This time she figured she'd ask them what they wanted. That way she could have a better idea of where to go and what kinds of things to get. The hobbits, rather predictably, described a traditional English breakfast, which Gandalf and Gimli seconded. Legolas requested fruit and bread (with the clarifier "fresh baked" tacked on, of all the nerve). The two Men claimed they would be content with just bread and cheese.

Sarah decided biscuits would be the closest thing to what they had all requested. Even though McDonald's was probably the cheapest option, she didn't really want to subject them to that, especially knowing what connoisseurs hobbits were of food. They might actually be insulted if she brought them something that even _she _knew was low-quality. So her best bet was probably going to be Hardee's.

She looked up their menu online (first making sure she was away from the Fellowship; she didn't feel like explaining the Internet right now) and did some figuring. The site didn't show prices, and Sarah dreaded finding out how much this smorgasbord was going to cost, but she wasn't going to be a tightwad with these guys…at least, not yet. If they stayed much longer they'd likely be getting the cheap stuff.

Sarah was going to need someone to come with her just to help carry the food—even though she was most certainly using the drive-thru, she'd need help getting it all back to the house. She needed someone she could absolutely trust not to get freaked out, overexcited, violent, or any combination of those. Legolas was the first one to come to mind; but despite the fact that he would stay calm and collected no matter what, he just looked too weird to take out in public. He was too unnatural. And Gandalf was…well, he looked like Gandalf. So Sarah fell back on her best option: Aragorn. She explained the situation and he, kind, helpful soul that he was, readily agreed to come along.

She fixed her clothes and jammed a hat on her head so she'd at least not look like a total frump, and also put on a bra. She was not going to be around nine men without a bra, even though it was her own house. Then she tossed a coat to Aragorn—the thin old undershirt he was wearing would be a little chilly—and, grabbing her keys, marched out the door.

Aragorn was unnerved by the car, and didn't like riding in it. It made a terribly loud roaring noise, and the wind whistled through the broken passenger side windows. Nevertheless, he kept himself composed. If the woman Sarah was fine with the vehicle, then he would be fine with it too. But his hands never unclenched from the sides of his seat.

When Sarah pulled into Hardee's her heart sank like a stone. There was a piece of paper reading _BROKEN _taped over the drive-thru speaker. _Great. Just perfect._ She gritted her teeth and sighed heavily. "OK, slight change of plan," she informed the bemused Ranger. "We're gonna have to go in after all. Thank goodness I gave you that jacket. And that you had enough sense to put on your boots." The girl sighed again. "Well, here we go. Come on." Aragorn observed how she pulled a handle on her door to open it, copied her, and stepped out of the car. He stared around in wonder and not a little distaste. What a strange world! Everything was made of some kind of stone, and there was hardly any greenery around.

"Aragorn!" Sarah was already at the door to the building. Aragorn caught up with just a couple of strides. "Now just…stick close to me, OK? And let me do the talking. You're just here to help carry the stuff. So just keep quiet, smile and nod if anyone greets you, got it?" Aragorn smiled and nodded. "Atta boy, Strider," Sarah said with a pat on his arm, and went on in. The Ranger followed, shocked at her use of his Bree name, and unsure whether or not to be insulted by her phrasing.

He followed the woman up to the counter and stood at her side as she ordered the food, smiling and nodding as instructed in response to a few greetings from people behind the counter. "OK," began Sarah, taking a deep breath. "I'd like…" She cursed under her breath—Aragorn raised an eyebrow but said nothing—and took a Post-It from her purse. "I'd like six Monster Biscuits, six Double Loaded Omelet biscuits, six plain biscuits, one biscuit-and-gravy, one cinnamon raisin biscuit—hold the icing please, seven large hash rounds, and one bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuit combo with sweet tea, please."

The woman behind the counter looked a little stunned and bewildered as she punched in Sarah's order. "Uh…will that complete your order?" she asked. When Sarah replied in the affirmative, the woman read out the total. Sarah's face paled, but she handed over her debit card. Once she had paid, she moved away from the counter and motioned Aragorn to follow. "It's going to be a little bit," she muttered. "Such a big order."

A few minutes later, as Sarah and Aragorn were headed back out the door, a newly-arrived young woman stopped them. "Oh, _hiii_, Sarah!" the girl gushed. Sarah giggled nervously. "Heh heh…hi, Rachel."

"Wow, you're up early! And…who's _this_?" Rachel's eyes roved over Aragorn, taking in the too-short lounge pants and stubbly chin, lingering on his face with an expression that made the Ranger highly uncomfortable. "Wow girl, got yourself a guy, huh?!" She leaned in closer to Sarah and said in a false whisper, "Nice job. You got a hot one!" The young woman winked suggestively at them both.

Aragorn flushed a bright red, and Sarah's face got even whiter than when she paid. The Ranger opened his mouth, ready to tell the young woman just how mistaken she was, but Sarah quickly intervened. She forced a laugh. "Ha. Yeah, um, he's not…I mean, he's just this guy…old friend…college…terrible fashion sense, you know how guys are…well nice seeing you!" After stammering out something resembling an explanation, Sarah pushed past Rachel and hurried to the car, Aragorn close on her heels. She all but flung the bags of food into the car and threw herself in after them.

Aragorn entered in a more composed manner to find Sarah leaning her head back against her seat. "My lady?" he inquired tentatively. "Are you well?" Sarah groaned and started the car. "Ugh. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. But…" she stopped talking and didn't resume until they were on the road. "Rachel's not really much of a friend. More of an acquaintance. And she's one of the worst gossips in this town, her and her friends." Her hands tightened on the wheel. "Now she's gonna be spreading around the word that I've got a boyfriend who spent the night with me! Urgh!" If Sarah had been watching Aragorn's face instead of the road, she would've laughed at his expression as he digested this piece of information. "Well, whatever. So what? People do that all the time. Whatever," she repeated, and took a sip of tea.

That reminded her. "Oh yeah…hobbits like hot tea, right?"

"Yes, Miss Sarah. They do indeed. Their fondness for the beverage is considered something of an oddity by other races, howev—" Aragorn stifled a cry and grabbed the sides of his seat as Sarah took a sudden, sharp right turn.

"Well, there's not many places around here that even_have _hot tea. Tea around here is iced and sweet. So they'll have to do with cold tea or no tea at all."

She zoomed into the drive-thru of a different restaurant and rapidly ordered two gallons of tea, one sweet, one unsweet. After handing the two gallons across to Aragorn, she zoomed off again toward home. Once they got back and got everything in the house, Sarah quickly put a pot of coffee on to brew and sorted out the food.

"All right, guys. Hobbits, you've got a Monster Biscuit and a Double Loaded Omelet biscuit each, and one large order of hash rounds apiece. Gimli, here's a Monster Biscuit and a gravy biscuit. Gandalf, one Monster Biscuit, and I've got a few extra plain ones if you want another. Legolas, I got you a plain biscuit and a cinnamon raisin one, and I've got some apples and grapes here you can have. And Aragorn and Boromir, you've each got one plain biscuit and one Double Loaded Omelet. And all of you except the hobbits have three large hash rounds to share."

She handed out the food as she spoke, indicating that they go ahead and start eating. Everyone dug in. Merry turned to her, swallowed a huge mouthful of biscuit, and opened his mouth. Sarah held up her hand. "I bet I know what you're going to ask. Tea, right? Well, sorry guys, but we just don't drink hot tea around here. Our tea's iced. And very sweet. So if you want tea, you'll have to have it cold, and if it's a hot drink you want, I've got coffee brewing." Merry closed his mouth, opened it again, blinked, and finally requested a glass of this sweet iced tea. The other hobbits followed suit.

Gimli, having tried both the sweet and unsweet and spat it out, asked what "coffee" was. Sarah stared at him. Gimli on coffee? _Oh dear… _But she poured a mug for him anyway. The Dwarf took a sip and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Durin's beard, this drink is delicious!" _I've created a monster, _thought Sarah with a sense of impending doom. And then it got worse: Merry, having noticed Gimli's approval and not being overly fond of the iced tea, asked if he could try a cup of the stuff too. Sarah found a small mug and handed it to him with trepidation.

The hobbit grimaced as he took a sip. "It is rather bitter," he choked. "Is there a way to sweeten it?" Sarah probably should have just said no and altogether avoided any hobbits being jumped up on caffeine, but she got out creamer and packets of sugar for Merry to add. He kept adding cream and sugar, tasting it, and adding more. When at last the coffee was a light brown, Merry pronounced it "perfect." And then he persuaded Pippin to try some.

_I'm going to really regret this, _Sarah thought as she watched all four hobbits now enjoying mugs of coffee.

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**In case anyone's wondering about Sarah's backstory: I might not be able to work it into the story really well, so I'll just give you a brief summary here. Sarah is an unemployed college dropout who lives with (and mooches off) her parents, who are currently away spending their retirement driving around America in a motor home. She's in her early twenties (21 or so) and is, like a great many people living in the South, a nominal Christian. So that's why she was upset at the thought of her friend spreading rumors that she'd had a guy spend the night - she doesn't necessarily think it's wrong, since she doesn't really hold Christian beliefs, but she's worried about what the rest of the town (and her parents) would think.**


	8. The Fellowship's New Clothes

**I'm really, really sorry about the wait! I kind of lost my momentum with this and focused on other things for a while. I've got a few drabbles started but I can't seem to finish them satisfactorily. Plus I'm a complete perfectionist, and I just can't bring myself to put up a chapter that I don't feel is just right. :B Updates from now on will definitely not be as quick as they were at first; sorry, guys. But I'm certainly not stopping this altogether - this is way too good a fic to give up on! **

**I didn't include the hobbits' shopping trips in this chapter because I want to give them their own chapter. So that'll be next! :) And from there on, just to let you know, the drabbles won't be in any particular chronological order - I'm just writing these as I get the ideas.**

**As ever, thank you so much for all your follows, favorites, and lovely reviews! Please keep reviewing and tell me what you think; and those of you that made suggestions for drabbles, thank you! In fact that's what started this chapter. So, suggestions are always welcome, and please enjoy! :)**

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The Fellowship had now been guests in Sarah's house for over a week, and they were going a little stir-crazy, Aragorn and Legolas in particular. They were all tired of being stuck in the house. They wanted to go places—they were curious about this new world, yes, but they also just wanted to get away from the cabin-fever atmosphere. Sarah finally relented, largely because she was tired of being cooped up with them too, and assumed the duties of chauffeur, tour guide, and chaperone.

First things first, though. The Fellowship needed clothes. Sarah wasn't going anywhere with them dressed in their own outfits, and the crazy mismatched clothing she'd found for them in her house was definitely not suitable for going out in public. So everyone's first modern destination was the thrift store.

Her car (now mostly repaired) didn't seat ten, and Sarah had planned on splitting them up into groups anyway. In little bunches they were almost inconspicuous, but all together their group just screamed _Lord of the Rings_. She also decided to take different groups to different thrift stores, to hopefully be even less conspicuous.

The first to go shopping were Aragorn, Boromir and Gandalf. The two Men looked pretty similar, so Sarah hoped to pass them off as brothers and Gandalf as their father. She put a baseball caps on all three, also tying Gandalf's hair into a sloppy ponytail, and hoped they'd look enough like your average unemployed hillbillies to not draw too much attention. In fact they were probably already dressed better than half the people frequenting Wal-Mart—so hopefully they'd stand out even less in Goodwill.

On the ride over, Aragorn was slightly more relaxed than before, knowing what to expect. Gandalf seemed to enjoy the ride, watching the scenery flash by with interest. Boromir just felt a bit sick. He let out a long, relieved breath and unclenched his jaw when Sarah finally parked.

"All right, guys," Sarah cautioned before getting out, "you're all grown men. One of you is _very _grown. So I hope there's no need to remind y'all to behave yourselves. Right?"

"Of course not," snapped Boromir. "As you yourself remarked, we are not children. Do not treat us as such!" Sarah turned in her seat and stared at him. Her eyes narrowed. "Boromir, are you OK? You look a little…well, carsick."

"I am perfectly well!" he growled, turning to the door. "Are we purchasing new garments or not?" He fumbled at the side of the car, trying to open the door. Sarah sighed and pointed to the handle. "Pull and push."

Once out of the car, the three men followed Sarah into the store and stared around in amazement. So many clothes! Shirts, breeches, shoes—they had never seen so many clothes in one place before. "Who made all these?" murmured Aragorn. "China," Sarah quipped, and all but dragged him across the huge room to a sign that read _Men's_. The other two followed quickly after. She indicated the sign hanging from the ceiling and the rows of racks that spread out under it. "This is the men's section. Here's t-shirts—" she gestured to the few racks in front of them, "—there's jeans, and over there is the nicer clothes. Shoes are under the sign that says _shoes_, obviously. Dressing rooms where you can try on clothes are over on the back wall. Got all that? OK, start shopping!"

Less than an hour and forty-something dollars later, the group was back in the car and heading home. My, but men were efficient shoppers. They were all decked out in their new outfits. They looked really good, but Sarah, knowing exactly who and what they were, still thought they looked a little weird in twenty-first-century clothes. Aragorn had gone more for comfort and utility than style: he had found a worn but sturdy pair of army-green denim cargo pants and a gray t-shirt with a black compass design on the pocket. A beat-up pair of hiking boots (a steal, really, they were a good brand) completed the look, and Aragorn was moderately satisfied.

Boromir had opted for the slightly nicer clothes. He now wore a pair of black slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt. He'd really hit the jackpot today, finding a dress jacket that matched the pants and a somewhat scuffed pair of black dress shoes that fit reasonably well. The son of the Steward was now practically the picture of business casual.

Gandalf had been disappointed to learn that robes were no longer the thing for men. He had been at something of a loss as to what kind of clothes to find until Sarah helped him out. She decided to stick with the theme of redneck grandpa, picking out an old stained pair of jeans, a battered pair of tennis shoes, and a Bass Pro Shop t-shirt with a hole under one arm. The old wizard was also intrigued by the single pair of sunglasses available and insisted on getting them. Sarah went along and let him wear them, even though they 1) were women's, 2) probably hadn't been worn since the '80s, and 3) Gandalf looked ridiculous with his eyebrows sticking out over the tops.

The next day it was Gimli and Legolas's turns. Both were very noticeable by themselves; together they would seriously draw attention. So Sarah was taking Gimli to one store, bringing him back, and then taking Legolas to another. At least, that was the plan. For a while there Sarah didn't think Gimli would be getting any new clothes at all. It took her, Aragorn, Boromir and Gandalf close to half an hour just to convince him to get in the car.

"That vile contraption is from the pits of Barad-dûr itself!" he bellowed, crossing his arms and planting his feet. "You cannot force me to put myself into its clutches!" Legolas was leaning back on the couch, observing the tantrum with unconcealed amusement. The hobbits were beginning to look increasingly nervous about their upcoming turns to ride in the "vile contraption."

"My dear Gimli, there is nothing to fear from the vehicle," said Gandalf soothingly. "I assure you, it is perfectly safe, and is indeed a novel way of quick travel."

"I have ridden in the…car…twice now," added Aragorn. "Yet you see I am before you, alive and whole." Gimli still remained adamantly unconvinced.

Sarah turned away with a loud huff. "Fine, then! If you're too scared to do something your friends have done, something practically everyone in the world does every day, then fine. I'm not gonna make you." There was silence for a second. Even with her back to him, Sarah could practically hear his face contorting in various expressions. Then: "SCARED?! You dare insinuate that I, Gimli son of Glóin, proud Dwarf of Erebor, am _frightened _of this vehicle?! Pooh! A Dwarf is frightened of nothing—a fact that you shall soon learn!" So saying, Gimli stomped away to the foyer and out the door. Sarah smirked at the others, who were trying not to laugh, and followed. "_Wait_, Gimli, lemme unlock it first!" they heard her call. Then the engine started, the doors slammed, and they were gone.

They weren't back for nearly two hours. Gimli turned out to be pickier with his clothes than Sarah was, and there were no men's pants short enough. Eventually Sarah forced him to try on a pair of women's petite capris, the legs of which were cut a bit wider than average, and finally even Gimli admitted they were a good fit. He kept picking through the shirts until she was ready to strangle him with a hanger, but he _finally _found a long-sleeve Gamecocks one he pronounced "passable." The sleeves were all wrinkled around his wrists and elbows because they were way too long, but apparently Gimli wasn't comfortable in short sleeves. Go figure. And they had not found any shoes that fit—the guy's feet were roughly the size and shape of cinderblocks—so he would just have to stick with his own boots, something he was quite happy about. He also liked his matching Gamecocks baseball cap Sarah had found for him. The garnet clashed horribly with his dark red hair.

Once Sarah brought Gimli home, she took a few minutes to relax, listen to some music, and enjoy an energizing cup of coffee. After that she was marginally refreshed and as ready as she'd ever be to take Legolas shopping. She made him put on a coat and zip it up, though; because no way on earth was she going out in public with an Elf in a pink nightgown. At least she'd be OK with it if it was covered up.

Riding in the car, looking out the window, Legolas was horrified and disgusted with the land that he saw. There was not much greenery; most of the surroundings were made of stone, in various shades of gray or tan. Almost everything that wasn't stone was metal. These people clearly had no love or respect for the land. He said as much to Sarah who looked a bit affronted. "We like nature!" she protested. "We've definitely gotten more conscious of our impact on the environment in recent years. And pretty much all cities have at least one park, and trees and grass and bushes planted in front of buildings and stuff. It's called landscaping." She pointed out some examples as they trundled past. Legolas only snorted; this pitiful attempt at reconciliation with the earth did nothing to change his opinion.

Sarah pulled up to a meter. Depositing her money, she beckoned for Legolas to follow her. A short walk away was the thrift store. Sarah really hadn't wanted to take the Elf into the downtown area, where there were so many more people than the stores out in the suburbs, but the downtown one had so much more to choose from. She was hoping they could find some clothes to fit Legolas's height.

As it turned out, the only pants they could find that were long enough for his legs but small enough for his waist were a pair of ripped black skinny jeans. Legolas was incredulous when Sarah told him the pants were actually made like that. The fact that people were willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money for a pair of cut-up breeches left him in appalled silence. But he tried on the pants anyway.

Seeing him in those jeans gave Sarah an idea. She had a feeling he would look pretty awesome in emo/goth style clothes, and she'd seen plenty of those kinds of clothes out on the racks. So she dragged the Elf over to the t-shirts and instructed him to look for black ones he thought might be long enough, preferably with a death-themed design. Legolas shot her a sharp glance at that, but began sifting through the shirts without comment. Pretty soon, he found one that Sarah thought was just perfect—black with a big gray skull design, and it was long enough in the waist to actually hang past the waistband of his pants. But Legolas, eyeing it with disdain, was adamant that he would not wear it unless they found nothing else to fit. And when he said nothing else, he _really _meant it: there was not a single men's shirt in the store that he didn't inspect. He even wanted to look in the women's section, but Sarah put her foot down. She was already tired of watching him pick through every single shirt—she was _not _waiting while he tackled the (considerably larger) women's section. She stuffed a black beanie and the skull shirt into his hands and herded him to the checkout counter.

A few minutes later, they stepped out of the store, Legolas looking vastly uncomfortable in his new outfit. But Sarah thought he looked great; she'd been right. The skinny jeans, skull t-shirt, and worn out combat boots contrasted starkly with his pale skin and light hair and, oddly, made him look more normal and inconspicuous. To top it off he wore an old black biker's leather jacket and a black beanie to hide the tips of his ears. He made to set off in the direction of the car but Sarah managed to grab his shirt sleeve.

"Oh, no, you don't. I'm starving. We're getting lunch." And she marched off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Legolas sighed and followed, tugging at his new hat. He wasn't used to having his ear-tips covered, and he didn't much like it.

Sarah decided to go to Panera Bread, where she hoped Legolas would find something to his taste. It was also only half a block away. She got there in record time, thanks to her growling belly. Legolas barely even had to slow his normal pace to stay beside her. Once they reached the restaurant, Sarah attempted to be nice and try to explain about the menu and ordering and stuff, despite her stomach's urging to just go straight in and let the Elf fend for himself. She probably didn't do a great job, but Legolas got the general idea and cut short her jumbled explanation, opening the door for her and ushering her inside. The sooner this woman got some food in her stomach, the better; honestly, she was as bad as a hobbit. Worse, actually—even when hungry, hobbits still kept their geniality.

Thankfully, the woman had to take a moment to decide what she wanted, giving Legolas more time to look at the menu. His gaze flew over the neatly printed board hanging up behind the counter. Rather an ingenious way of informing customers of the food available, he had to admit. It removed the need for a display of wares—and yet they still did that as well, he noted, seeing the various breads displayed in clear boxes on the counter.

By the time Sarah settled on what she wanted to eat, Legolas had already made his selection and was gazing around the restaurant with mild curiosity. It was all so strange, and yet it was not so different from similar establishments in the world of Men back home. Quite interesting. After observing how Sarah ordered her food, he stepped up to the counter and smoothly placed his order as though he'd done this all his life. The middle-aged woman behind the counter simpered and said, "Sure, honey," and hardly removed her eyes from him even while Sarah paid.

They sat at a small table by the window. For the first ten minutes or so there was no talk. Sarah was too busy inhaling her panini, while Legolas slowly ate his bread-bowl vegetable soup and people-watched. When all her sandwich and most of her chips were gone, Sarah leaned back and heaved a sigh. "Whew. That hit the spot. Much better." Legolas raised an eyebrow an infinitesimal amount but said nothing, and began to neatly tear apart his bread bowl. A man passed their table holding a steaming cup and Sarah groaned. "I forgot they had hot tea here. Guess I'll have to bring the hobbits sometime…" She shrank from the thought.

"Sarah! Hi there!" The sudden voice made Sarah jump and miss the chip she was closing her teeth on, biting her lip painfully instead. She turned in her seat to face the speaker, a grimace/smile on her face. "Hey, Meghan." This was another not-quite-friend that Sarah had thought she was rid of. _Just my luck,_ she thought. _Running into another "old friend" when I've got one of the Fellowship with me._

"I thought you had moved to California to go to college?" Sarah asked warily, trying not to make it sound like _why the heck are you even here?_. Meghan cackled. "I took the semester off! I got kind of homesick. So how've you been? Who's your friend?" She was, frankly, ogling Legolas. There really wasn't any other word for it.

"Oh, fine, fine. Uh, this is—eh—" Sarah cast around for a name that resembled Legolas, "—Logan!" Legolas blinked but smiled politely and dipped his head to Meghan. Under Sarah's hard look, he chose not to stand and bow. He also kept his instinctive "_Mae govannen_" to himself.

Meghan's toothy grin grew even wider. "Well, hi there, Logan, nice to meet you!" She extended her hand. Legolas noted she held it sideways like a man, rather than palm-down for him to kiss it, so he went with it and reached out his own. He went to grasp the other woman's forearm as he would a man in Middle-earth, but Sarah coughed loudly and tapped her palm. It was as an idle gesture, but the pointed stare she was giving him told him otherwise. Unsure of precisely what she meant, he grasped Meghan's hand in his own, hoping it was the right thing. It must have been, because Sarah looked relieved, and Meghan gripped his hand and moved it up and down a few times.

The other woman casually dropped into the chair next to Sarah at their table. Sarah looked a bit affronted, but Meghan ignored her, staring at Legolas across the table. "So, Logan, are you new in town?"

"Aye," replied Legolas, who saw nothing wrong with answering the question. Sarah's eyes widened in alarm. Meghan's widened in surprise, and she giggled. "'Aye'? I guess you're not from around here, huh, Logan?"

"No, m—"

"No, he's, uh, an exchange student," Sarah cut in hurriedly, before Legolas could finish saying _milady_.

Meghan's gaze didn't leave Legolas. "Oh? Awesome! Where are you from?"

"Britain," said Sarah before Legolas could even open his mouth. Meghan giggled again. "Ooh, that's so cool! I love British accents. What are you studying over here?"

"Uh—nursing," Sarah blurted, saying the first thing that came to mind. Meghan took her eyes off Legolas to look at her. "Why do you keep answering for him? Let Logan talk a little!" She turned back to the Elf. "Nursing, huh? What a coincidence! That's what I'm studying too!" She batted her eyelashes. "Maybe we could get together sometime and study."

Legolas opened his mouth, but Sarah forced a laugh and said quickly, "Actually, Logan's going to be leaving pretty soon, yeah. Like next week sometime. So he's gotta get ready and stuff, ya know." Meghan began to turn toward her with a frown, so Legolas helped her out.

"Aye, I shall be leaving very soon. I am sorry. Truly, I would gladly have assisted you in your studies, but alas I am unable. I wish you well, however, and trust you will succeed."

Meghan seemed slightly taken aback by his speech. "Well, that's too bad," she pouted. "I could have made it interesting." She gave him a look from under her lashes that made his cheeks flush faintly and caused him to draw breath for an offended reply. Sarah noticed his look and gasped.

"Man, look at the time! I've gotta go—uh—doctor's appointment! I'm already late! Come on, Logan, we've gotta go!" She stood hurriedly and gathered up the trash, bustling toward the bin and motioning for Legolas to follow. He strode after her and they swept out the door, leaving Meghan staring after them openmouthed.


	9. She's Taking the Hobbits!

"No."

"Ah, but Miss Sarah—"

"Absolutely not!"

"But—"

"NO!"

Sarah groaned and rubbed her forehead hard enough to leave red marks. Why, oh why did she ever decide to _not _split up Merry and Pippin?! Oh yes—because she chose for Frodo and Sam to be together so the Ring-bearer would hopefully feel more comfortable. _But what about MY comfort?!_

She had decided to take the two younger hobbits shopping first, another bad decision. After today Sarah wasn't sure she'd have the strength to take two more hobbits out in public, albeit two somewhat more well-behaved hobbits. Right now she had to deal with the notoriously troublemaking Took and Brandybuck.

For some reason, and somehow, they had given her the slip (no surprise there, she supposed). It was, unfortunately, a very large Salvation Army store, and Sarah had spent the past quarter of an hour power-walking through the maze of used goods and hissing the hobbits' names. Now they finally stood before her. With a shopping cart. Which was slap-full of _stuff_.

Pippin gave her the wrongfully-scolded-puppy look, while Merry continued to stare at her earnestly. The deceptively open, honest expression on his face was the look of an expert salesman giving his spiel about why a particular car was spectacularly better than all the other (identical) cars. And like the car salesman, allowing herself to be persuaded would put Sarah back more than she could afford.

Sarah set her face in what she hoped was an unmoving, stony expression, and adopted a stance that suggested she expected to be rammed by the shopping cart (but was supposed to be authoritatively adamant). "You are _not _getting all this stuff," she growled. "I mean, what the heck are you gonna do with a single roller-skate?! Or—or," she continued, eyes roving over the stuffed buggy, "a frilly lampshade? Or an old…milk crate thing?"

"Oh, that's for your cat," broke in Pippin. Sarah stopped her tirade short and stared at the hobbit, confused and suspicious. "My cat?"

Both hobbits nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, we can put it upside-down over the cat, so it will be compelled to sleep under the box, wherever we decide to place it," explained Merry. "So we can finally enjoy a good night's sleep without that creature sticking its claws in us!" added Pippin.

Sarah just continued staring at them, opening and closing her mouth a few times. She looked dumbstruck, and also quite offended. Taking her silence as an invitation for further explanation, Pippin gestured to the crate. "It is made especially for animals," he said persuasively. "See?"

On the side of the box was the word PET in big blue letters.

"We decided this would be a much better solution than killing the animal, or forcing it off the property," Merry said sagely. "More humane. And respectful to you, my lady." He gave a bow, hoping to defuse her mood with flattery. Both hobbits watched her expectantly.

"More humane," Sarah finally managed in a strangled voice. She had no idea whether to laugh, scream, cry, yell, or do all at once. Pippin nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, Sam wanted to drown it—a fairly kind death anyway, as animal executions go—" Sarah sputtered angrily, "—but Frodo came up with the idea of simply trapping it in one place at night."

More staring. "You know you could just close the bedroom door, right?" she said at last. "And just lock it so she can't jump up and turn the handle." Merry and Pippin looked at each other, then back at Sarah. "Oh," said Pippin, while Merry muttered, "We didn't know the door had a lock." Sarah closed her eyes and facepalmed.

The hobbits turned back to the buggy, both reaching up and grasping the handlebar. "Well, let's go pay," Pippin said cheerfully, and they began to precariously steer it away. Sarah grabbed the buggy before they could push it off in the direction of checkout. "Oh-ho-ho, no you don't! All this stuff that isn't clothes for you two is going back where you got it."

She set off pushing the buggy, the hobbits trailing behind, disappointed but cheerful. With the amount and variety of things piled in the cart, and the size of the store, Sarah probably got more exercise that day than she normally did in a week. Every few minutes she would shake her head incredulously at some object the hobbits had wanted to buy. A fishbowl, a pull-chain for a ceiling fan, an ugly embroidered throw pillow, a ceramic goose, an archaic cell phone, matching plastic vases, some kind of charging cable, two different sized lightbulbs, the roller-skate, the lampshade, the milk crate, a set of novelty silverware and a child's three-legged stool all went back to their (approximate) proper places. At the bottom of the cart were the few clothes the hobbits had managed to find before being distracted by everything else. There were maybe three items of clothing total—and one was a one-piece Superman costume.

Sarah sighed. "Didn't get far in the clothes, did you?" She rubbed her forehead once more. "What on earth were y'all even going to _do_ with all that other stuff? I mean, obviously the stool and silverware were practical though unnecessary, and maybe the pillow, but why the other stuff?"

"They would have made excellent mathom-presents," Merry pointed out somewhat wistfully. Sarah laughed, imagining the cell phone gathering dust on some hobbit's mantelpiece. "I'm sure the Shire has plenty of mathoms without you two adding more! Now," she sighed again, "let's get some clothes for y'all."

Finding apparel for Merry and Pippin took a good deal longer than she'd hoped. It wasn't that they were particularly picky—in fact the opposite was true; they okayed just about everything she held up to suggest. But, not being used to premade clothes, they expected some kind of tailor to fit and alter the clothes to the perfect fit. The unfortunate Sarah had to explain that this wasn't the case, and _why _this wasn't the case, to two obstinately confused hobbits. She finally just gave up and pushed them into the dressing rooms with their arms full of clothes. And then she had to wait nearly another hour while they tried everything on. And _then _they had liked so many of the clothes that she had to have a long debate with them about which ones to put back (and why she couldn't just get all of them—Salvation Army is pretty cheap, but six or seven outfits each kind of adds up).

At last they had reached a compromise—one outfit and one extra shirt each—and were halfway to the checkout counter when Sarah remembered: _shoes_. If there was one thing that seriously stuck out about the hobbits besides their height, it was their huge hairy feet. Shoes were definitely a must for any hobbits trying to go incognito. In fact she wasn't really sure how she and the two guys were allowed in the store, unless the no-shirt-no-shoes-no-service rule didn't apply to kids, or what seemed like kids. So she swung the buggy around and herded Merry and Pippin back to the shoe racks. They were most displeased when she told them they _had _to find some shoes to wear, even if they had to go to another store. Pippin, being younger and less set in his ways, was somewhat more open to this item of apparel, but it was still like trying to put shoes on a cat.

After some trial and error, Sarah figured that Pippin wore a size 9. Merry's feet were slightly bigger, but the pair of size 10s seemed a little too big, so he probably needed a 9 ½; but getting half sizes in thrift stores was rarer than wild pandas, and beggars can't be choosers. As it was, they were lucky enough to find tennis shoes for the both of them, and they were only slightly ill-fitting and not outrageously noticeable. _Really, it'd be better if I could get shoes a couple sizes smaller and in double-wide, _thought Sarah as the hobbits fidgeted uncomfortably in their new shoes. _But I'm not spending that kind of money. They'll just have to deal with it._ She gave them a reassuring, and exhausted, smile.

"You look great," she said encouragingly. "And don't worry, you'll only have to wear those out in public, not around the house." They were visibly relieved at that.

Finally, at four in the afternoon, Sarah got everything paid for and got the hobbits to change into their new clothes. _Thank God I haven't run into anyone I know this time,_ she thought fervently, and her hand crept over to surreptitiously knock on a nearby dining table.

Merry and Pippin stepped out of the dressing rooms. Sarah surveyed them appreciatively: they now looked more or less like regular kids who just happened to have abnormally large feet. If you didn't look too closely at their faces—even Pippin was the hobbit equivalent of a guy in his late teens, and exhibited the thick eyebrows and sharp jaw of that age group—you'd never know anything was amiss. Merry wore a yellow t-shirt with a Soft Kitty graphic, green camo cargo pants, and white-and-grey tennis shoes. Pippin had on a red t-shirt that read _IKR?!_, a nice pair of khaki pants, and blue shoes. Merry had wanted to wear shorts, but in addition to hairy feet hobbits also had hairy legs, and little boys weren't _supposed_ to have hairy legs. So long pants it was.

On the way home Sarah stopped and picked up pizza again, this time with extra mushrooms, with the approval of Merry and Pippin. If that wasn't what the others wanted, well, too bad. She wasn't about to call her home phone and try to ask them.

* * *

Sarah slept like a log that night, forcing herself not to think about having to go through this all over again tomorrow. She woke up early (for her), stiff and grouchy and _so _not looking forward to another day of shopping with hobbits. _But after all, Sam and Frodo are much more mature, _she thought. _Surely they'll be much better behaved. _She took the small comfort of that thought and got up, hoping the day might be better than the previous one.

It didn't seem like it would be, if the beginning was any indication. Just about everyone, it seemed, had slept poorly for some reason (most likely that reason had fur and claws) and was in a foul mood. The hobbits, who had taken Sarah's advice about the cat, had all slept quite well; but they were grumpy too, because they were tired of cereal and Pop-Tarts and wanted a good full breakfast, and because no one had made coffee yet. _Great. They're already having caffeine withdrawals. _But Sarah fixed a pot anyway, and then another, and it seemed to put everyone in a slightly better mood.

And then everyone started informing Sarah of the foods they were out of, which was, apparently, just about everything. She let out a huge, long groan and let her head fall into her arms, clunking her forehead on the table. Now she had to buy a buttload of groceries, too. She dragged herself up out of her chair and stumped to her room to get dressed. _Better get started now._ Sarah threw on some half-decent clothes and jammed a hat on her head, not even bothering to shower, and then collected Frodo and Sam.

Now that Merry and Pippin had shoes, Sarah thought it would be prudent for the other two to go ahead and wear them now until they found their own pairs. Frodo managed to pull them on without much problem, but poor Sam had the biggest feet of all, and looked utterly miserable once he was stuffed into the shoes. Sarah promised that they'd hit the footwear first. She loaded them into the car and set off, heading to the only Goodwill that Sarah hadn't yet inflicted the Fellowship upon.

Five minutes into the drive, Frodo happened to look over at Sam and was instantly concerned. He was practically green in the face. "Sam! Whatever is the matter? Sam?" He caught Sarah's attention and she glanced back over her shoulder when she could.

"Oh, don't pay me any mind, Mr. Frodo. I just feel a bit ill." Sam was barely moving his lips as he spoke for fear of throwing up. Sarah pulled over in a church parking lot and got out, going around to Sam's side. She helped him move to the front seat and rolled down the window. "Just stare straight ahead out the windshield at a fixed point," she instructed. "Try sticking your head out the window, that can help too." They made it to their destination without incident, but Sam still hated every second of the ride.

Thankfully, their time in the store was fairly short, simple, and uneventful. As promised, they headed straight to the shoes, and quickly found a pair of size-11 loafers for Sam. Frodo rather liked a pair of Converse, but try as they might, they just couldn't fit his extra-wide foot into the narrow shoe. He ended up settling for a pair of white orthopedic walking shoes—why, Sarah didn't know, but she just let him go with it.

Finding clothes for Frodo wasn't too hard; it was mostly just a matter of ferreting out those items that weren't so outrageously childish. A nice little blue polo shirt and khaki denims satisfied him. Sam, though, was a little more difficult. Despite the many weeks of vigorous walking he'd done, he was still rather plump, and there weren't that many larger-sized kids' clothes. He ended up with a gray Harley-Davidson t-shirt and too-long jeans. He was enamored with a pair of overalls, but there Sarah drew the line.

It wasn't until Sarah pulled into the grocery store parking lot that she realized she hadn't thought of what to do with Frodo and Sam while she got groceries. They probably wouldn't much mind sitting in the car, but even if she left it running, she was afraid someone might see them and report her for leaving small children unattended in a running car. But she was wary of taking them inside after her experience with Merry and Pippin. She discussed this with the hobbits.

It turned out that Sam was very interested to see how people bought groceries in this world (and he didn't want to stay in that car a moment longer than he absolutely had to), and Frodo agreed it would be best for them to accompany her once Sarah explained the policy about leaving kids in cars. Both hobbits assured her that she needn't worry about them rampaging around the store—Frodo was past that age, and Sam wasn't one for wild behavior anyway. Still, it was with reluctance that Sarah walked with them to the door.

She strode inside and got a buggy from the line, and was just about to set off when she noticed Sam and Frodo weren't behind her. Panic seized her. _Seriously? Already?! _But she turned back to the door and there they were outside: staring at the door, Frodo with wonder, Sam with suspicion. Sarah almost wanted to laugh at their reaction to an automatic door, but by now she was _this _close to being SO done with hobbits. With all of the Fellowship, really. She marched back through the door and grabbed both hobbits' shoulders, all but pushing them inside. Sam screwed up his face as he passed the threshold as if expecting the doors to close with him between them.

"Stay with me," she instructed them rather shortly, and pushed the cart into the store. The hobbits followed obediently at her heels. The first stop was the bakery, where Sarah grabbed two prepackaged coffee cakes and an enormous box of powdered donuts. Both hobbits looked as if they wanted to stay and look around a bit longer, but Sarah was already off to the produce section. They trotted to catch up with her, casting longing glances back at the displays of birthday cakes.

In the produce section, Sarah ran an eye down her mile-long list and grumbled. These guys clearly didn't understand how expensive fresh fruits and vegetables were here. What did they even want all this for? Darned if she was going to start _cooking _for them. If they wanted home-cooked meals, they could cook them themselves.

Frodo and Sam stood in front of the shelves of vegetables, set back a few inches into the wall and brightly lit through the same magic that lit Sarah's house. Sam put his hand out to grasp a bunch of greens and pulled it back with a gasp. "It's cold!" he exclaimed. Frodo put his hand in too and then examined the shelves. "Yes…perhaps it is the same magic that is in the large silver box in Sarah's kitchen," he murmured, "keeping food cold. But how does the cold stay within the shelves when there is no door?"

A sudden crackle of thunder made them jump and look around for the source of the noise. Then the lights in the shelves flashed brightly and a sudden mist sprayed out of the top. The hobbits stumbled back in surprise. Then Frodo laughed and pointed at some words that ran along the top ledge, where a single light was flashing. The little light and the noise shut off as soon as the mist ceased, as suddenly as it had begun. "They spray water on the vegetables to help keep them fresh," he said to Sam, both squinting up at the sign. Sam nodded in approval, seeing how the water would keep the leafy things from wilting. Perhaps the people of this world weren't completely uncouth.

Sarah caught movement out the corner of her eye and glanced up. Frodo was tottering toward her carrying a towering stack of packs of cut mushrooms. Sam followed behind with his arms full of assorted fresh vegetables. They arrived at the buggy, Frodo somehow managing to not crash into it or her with his sight impeded by mushrooms, and offered their loads to be put in the cart.

Sarah closed her eyes, breathing heavily through her nose, and counted to thirty. She opened her eyes again. The hobbits were still standing there, staring at her in puzzlement. Taking one more deep breath, she tried to explain calmly, mostly succeeding.

"OK. First of all, Sam, you can't just grab a bunch of veggies and put them in your buggy—you have to put each different kind in a little plastic bag." She gestured to the stands that held the bag rolls. Not all of them were actually too high for a hobbit to reach, probably due to the habit of mothers sending their small children to fetch a bag. "And then with a lot of them you have to weigh the bag in this scale here, because the price is by the pound. Did you even look at the prices?" He had, but of course the numbers had meant nothing to him, not knowing the value of a dollar.

Then she turned to Frodo while Sam began to sort through his vegetables. "Frodo, I know y'all hobbits like mushrooms, but here they're pretty expensive. I mean…where'd you even get these? Did you happen to see the price listed on the little piece of paper under it?" He had seen lots of prices on lots of little pieces of paper, and wasn't sure which number went with which product (to be fair, it was a skill one had to learn). But most of the prices, he recalled, began with the number five.

"All right then, so about five—Sam, I really think that's enough potatoes, put some back where you found them—about five dollars apiece…my gosh. Frodo, I'm sorry, but I'm just not spending forty-something dollars on mushrooms! One pack. That's all we're getting." Frodo gazed sadly at the miniscule amount in a single package. Each hobbit would get two—three if they were lucky—_slices _of a single mushroom. What kind of world _was _this?!

After going through Sam's vegetables again, and whittling the amount down to a quarter of the original size, Sarah was ready to hurry to the snack aisle. Just then Sam noticed the bunch of bananas Sarah had already placed in the buggy. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but just what are those queer yellow things?" he asked.

"Those are bananas. They're a fruit and they're good, quick snacks. Don't ask me any more about them; you'll have time to inspect them at home! Now come on."

She steamed through the rest of the store, the hobbits puffing along behind her. Thankfully, the boxes and bags of snack foods didn't interest them as much as the foods they could actually see, so the rest of Sarah's list was collected fairly quickly. Until they got to the fresh meat section. Then the hobbits marveled over the ingenuity of refrigeration once more, and studied the cellophane-wrapped packages of various cuts of meat. Sarah still had to explain to them, though, why it was already cut and packaged like that and not just strung up for the buyer to see. "But if you don't watch the butcher cut the animal," argued Sam, "how do you know for sure what cut you're getting? Or even what animal, for that matter?"

Sarah had to stop and think about that one for a minute. "Well," she said at last, "…I guess you don't really know exactly what cuts you're getting, unless you're an experienced cook who knows what a loin or whatever looks like. You've just gotta trust the packaging. But it's more sanitary this way," she defended. "And you know you're getting beef, not pork, because…well, because they taste differently."

"What good is that? Once you've bought it and cooked it, you can't return it to the butcher."

"Look, Sam, you've got a good point but there're rules and regulations here on food, especially meat. If you got a mislabeled cut of meat you'd just complain and you'd probably get your money back, OK? Now pick out what meat you want and let's get going!"

Twenty minutes, 100-plus dollars, and a mix-up about differently-priced apples later, a worn-out Sarah shoved the last of the bags into the back of the car and pushed the buggy into a nearby corral. The hobbits were even more exhausted because they'd pretty much jogged the whole store. Sam dragged himself into the front seat, relieved to finally sit down but dreading the ride home. Sarah slid in behind the wheel and flopped her head back against the headrest.

"All right, guys. I'm guessing you want to use that stuff we just bought to cook supper?" Both hobbits answered in the affirmative. "'Kay then. I've got a stepstool at home. I'll show you where everything is. Good luck."

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**Well, here it is, finally: the next chapter! I think this might be the longest chapter yet. I hope you enjoy! As always, thanks for reading, and don't hesitate to review/message me with any suggestions! ^_^ **

**FYI: From this chapter on, chapters probably won't really be in chronological order - this was, after all, intended to be just a collection of drabbles. So my timelines might jump around a little. :)**


	10. Out of the Frying Pan

**Okay, guys. It's been way too long. _Waaayyyyyy _too long. I'm really, really sorry! I just kept putting it off (I had plenty of time over the summer) until I became too busy to write once the semester started. You have my deepest apologies!**

**But I have to say that this will, unfortunately, be the last update for another long while. I'll write when I can, but that might not be very often, and next year looks like it's going to be extremely busy. Hopefully I will have time next summer. :) I'm really sorry I can't update frequently or regularly-I know how awesome it is when authors do that! **

**With that, I give you the next episode in this unexpected and really strange adventure. I hope you enjoy it! :)**

**(Oh, by the way, I just want to say: this is NOT going to be a Legomance. Sarah and Legolas will become friends, but there will be NO shipping. With anyone. Just an FYI because I know that so far it seems to be leaning in the Legomance direction. That's the story's doing, not mine.)**

* * *

It was chaos.

Okay, maybe not as bad as it could have been. But it was still a mild fiasco.

Sarah had tried her best to explain the various cooking apparatuses beforehand, but apparently her best wasn't good enough. Sam had thought the flat electric stovetop was ingenious, and the temperature dials a marvel of convenience, but he still preferred a nice wood stove or even an open fire; with those, at least, he knew exactly how hot and how long to cook things. The oven, too, was confusing, and set far too high in the wall for a hobbit to reach without standing on a stool—which would probably not be a good idea whilst handling hot dishes full of food. This was the first sign that the cooking of supper would be involving more than just the hobbits.

Another was the fact that three quarters of everything needed was stored in cabinets above the hobbits' reach. Even on stepstools, some things were still too high. Sarah didn't relish the thought of having to take a hobbit to the emergency room because a large glass salad bowl fell on his head. Sending in a tall person to help wouldn't do because they wouldn't know what was needed, much less where it was stored. So as much as she wanted to go collapse on the couch with a coffee and a Netflix marathon of _House M.D._, she was obliged to stay in the kitchen and help Sam.

Everything started out well enough—about as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. The kitchen was crowded with stools and chairs and something of a makeshift assembly line had been set up. Pippin stood on a chair at the sink, washing vegetables and passing them to Merry, who was chopping them up. Half the chopped vegetables then went to Sam, draped in Sarah's mother's old apron and wielding a stirring spoon in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, manning the various pots and pans on the stove. The other half went to Frodo at the little breakfast table, who assembled them in a large bowl to make a salad.

Then they ran into their first speedbump. Frodo's salad was already overflowing, and he hadn't even put all the components in yet. And though they had thought the bowl would be large enough to hold enough salad for the whole company, the full bowl probably only contained three or four servings (given the amount the Fellowship had eaten of everything else during their stay).

"Perhaps we ought to serve it in individual bowls," suggested Merry over his shoulder, but Sarah shook her head. "That would mean even more dirty dishes than we're already going to have," she countered. "And besides, everybody might not want all their salad, or even want salad at all." Here she mainly had Gimli and herself in mind, though it was possible some of the others might decline.

"Is this the largest bowl you have, then?" asked Frodo. Sarah thought for a minute. "Well…no, actually. I think there's still a giant one up in the cabinets somewhere. And I think it's actually supposed to be for salads, so I guess it should do. Let me look."

Pippin vacated his chair momentarily so Sarah could drag it over to another stretch of cabinets. She stood on it and began rummaging. "Found it," she grunted after a minute, and stretched up on her toes. Unfortunately for short people like Sarah, the cabinets were both high and deep. And the bowl was, of course, in the very back. Her fingertips managed to touch the edge of the bowl, but it was too heavy for her inadequate grip, and she ended up pushing it farther back than it was to begin with. She growled in frustration. Normally in such a situation, she'd simply grab a long utensil like a meat fork and drag the dish out; but in this case, the bowl being huge and of glass and behind a bunch of other stuff, Sarah decided not to risk it. She was going to have to bring in help.

She climbed down from the chair, returning it to Pippin, and trudged over to the living room. Sticking her head through the doorway, she was just in time to hear a roar of laughter; it seemed that Gimli had been recounting some amusing tale (probably bawdy, judging by everyone's look of embarrassment when they caught sight of Sarah). Her eyes scanned the room for the tallest person and quickly fell on Legolas. He had been leaning casually up against the wall with his arms crossed, but had stood up straight along with everyone else when Sarah had entered the room. Though she knew this was a mandatory gentlemanly action for them, it disconcerted her.

"Um," she said, conscious of the five pairs of eyes on her. It was like, well, interrupting a group of men in the middle of a racy story. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I need to borrow Legolas for a sec." The Elf raised an eyebrow, but he nodded to the other men and followed Sarah out of the room.

"I, uh, I need you to reach something for me," Sarah explained, shifting her feet. She felt suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed at asking an Elf—the prince of Mirkwood no less—to retrieve something from a high cabinet. Then she remembered how surly and awkward he'd looked when she had taken him to Panera in his new clothes, and her embarrassment lessened considerably. "You're the tallest one here, so you shouldn't have any trouble." For the barest moment Legolas wore a look of offended incredulity, but he quickly made his face impassive once more and inclined his head to the woman.

Sarah led the Elf to the kitchen cabinet and pointed out the dish they needed. She watched as Legolas raised his arm and plucked the bowl from the cabinet with disgusting ease. He didn't even have to stretch to reach it. Legolas handed the heavy glass bowl to Sarah with a small bow and a "milady." She shot him a hard glance, and though his face displayed no sign of sarcasm, she got the strong feeling that he was smirking at her inside. She nodded her thanks and set the bowl in front of Frodo, then checked Sam's progress at the stove. When she turned back around, Legolas was still there.

"Are there any further objects you need me to retrieve for you, milady?" There was definitely the trace of a smirk this time. Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. "No, O great Elven-prince of Snarkwood, that's all I need," she drawled with a roll of her eyes. "Thank you so much for your benevolent help. We peasants greatly appreciate it." She gave an exaggerated bow. Legolas looked baffled but gave a half-grin, amused, and returned to the living room.

When she turned around again she found the hobbits staring at her, clearly amused but highly confused. "What?" she demanded. "He was giving me snark, so I gave some back!" The confusion on their faces deepened. "Snark?" repeated Pippin. "Sarcasm. Attitude," explained Sarah. Pippin nodded. "Ah," he said. "That makes sense. I thought perhaps you meant wooing."

It took Sarah a minute to realize what he meant. Her face turned beet red and she spluttered a little. "You thought we were _flirting_?!" she managed to choke out.

All the hobbits nodded.

Sarah stared at them, at a loss for words, and finally just snorted loudly and stomped over to the silverware drawer. The hobbits looked at each other and shrugged as she muttered to herself and loudly pulled out silverware, the utensils clattering on the counter.

A short while later, Gimli stuck his head in the doorway and asked if they were having any trouble with supper, since really they ought to be nearly done by now. "No, Gimli, we're doing just fine," growled Sarah through gritted teeth. Of course, at that very moment Sam dropped a bit of butter on the stove, and a completely unreasonable amount of smoke went curling up from the burner.

Seconds after, several things happened at once. The smoke alarm, already on a hair trigger, shrieked out its piercing beep in protest of the presence of so much smoke. The hobbits hit the ground with their hands clamped over their ears, terrified, while Gimli roared and spun in circles looking for the enemy. The men in the living room came rushing into the kitchen, shouting alarmed questions, adding to the clamor, and Legolas let out some curses choice enough to cause Gandalf and Aragorn to stare at him in surprise even amid the pandemonium. Sarah was stumbling over hobbits to the smoke alarm with her hands over her ears when a flicker caught her eye, and she looked at the stove in horror to see that little tongues of flame were leaping up from the puddle of butter. Sam noticed it at the same time and, scrambling up onto his chair, slammed a skillet lid over the puddle while Sarah wrenched the burner knob around to _off_. Two seconds later, Sarah turned around just in time to see Gimli deliver a death blow to the smoke alarm with his tallest axe, the haft of which was fortunately made of wood.

For a moment everyone just stood there looking rattled and staring at one another—except Gimli, who uttered a battle cry of triumph and spat at the smoke alarm, which was so high up that the glob of Dwarf spit landed on the wall below it and began to ooze downward. The hobbits cautiously uncovered their ears, but Legolas was still clutching his head with such force that his fingers were white, his eyes scrunched shut.

Sarah broke the silence. "Um…Legolas? You can let go of your ears now." The Elf opened his eyes, let his hands fall to his sides, and glowered at her. He turned and strode back into the living room while the others converged on Sarah.

"What in the name of Elbereth was that evil noise?!"

"What _was_ that?"

"Why was it so loud?"

"I thought for a moment that we were under an attack of some sort!"

"My ears are ringing yet!"

"Worry not, my lady, I have slain the maker of that fearful sound! But you ought to have told us that such a thing resided in your house."

"Indeed. What _was_—"

"Okay! Enough!" shouted Sarah in frustration. "It was just a smoke alarm!" They stared at her, perplexed. "It goes off when it senses smoke," she explained, rubbing her temples. "It's a _safety mechanism_. Not an enemy. Not a monster. The volume is so it'll wake you up if you're asleep. It was just doing its job." There was a collective _ohhh_ from the Fellowship. With that cleared up, Sarah and the hobbits got to work cleaning up the kitchen and salvaging supper. Surprisingly, Boromir pitched in, as well as Gimli, who sensed that perhaps he should not have cloven the device in two and wanted to appease Sarah. Aragorn and Gandalf went to check on Legolas.

Legolas was stretched out on the couch, massaging his throbbing temples with a pained expression. The other two sat down too, commiserating with him in silence, until Sarah came in wiping her hands on a towel. She looked startled to see the highborn Elf looking so…well, human. She hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should just leave, but quickly took charge of the situation.

It was a fight, but she won. Fifteen minutes later, the Elf was laid up in the guest bedroom with a full dose of extra-strength aspirin—approved by both Gandalf and Aragorn after Sarah Googled the ingredients—a cold washcloth draped over his forehead, and the cat curled up purring on his chest. These were tried-and-true headache cures (well, except for the cat, but she had jumped up before Sarah could stop her and hooked her claws in Legolas's shirt if anyone tried to remove her). Legolas looked every bit the emo goth with that scowl on his face, but too bad. He would thank her for it later.

The food, everyone later agreed, actually turned out pretty well; but it was a unanimous decision to stick to fast food from then on.


End file.
